


Rotten to the Core

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:31:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Cloud, prince of Nibelheim, declares that Sephiroth, son of the worst villain to date, should be released from the island Midgar, where his mother was banished to for her crimes.akaI’m trash and wrote a disney descendants AU please forgive me





	Rotten to the Core

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for writing this

               “From this point forward, those guilty of crimes against the state, humanity, or both will be banished, where they can harm no one other than their fellow criminals.”

 

               Sephiroth watched through the window as the car passed through the city. He didn’t really believe he’d miss the island, Midgar, but neither was he excited to enter the mainland. The island that had served as his home his entire life was, if he was being generous, a garbage dump. His mother, Jenova, had been “heinous” enough to be evicted from the mainland, ending up locked on the island, trapped inside a magical barrier with her ilk. There were certainly people whose crimes were minor and didn’t deserve their punishment, but was there ever a legal system that was truly just? These petty criminals and their children were just trying to get by, he knew that. But the others, the children of traitors and murderers like he was, were raised to raise hell. In an island without material wealth, their hierarchy was determined not by money, but by power. Those raised to wield it floated naturally to the top and had a tendency to crush the others beneath their heel.

               Said crushing was something Sephiroth was good at. He knew how to make people miserable, how to make them suffer. His mother was the most feared being on the island, and he earned his own place as her equivalent in his generation. He was comfortable with the status quo. He had fought for his place, earned the respect that was his due, and he was reluctant to give it up.

               He was not, however, one to turn down opportunity; even if he was, his mother wouldn’t have allowed him to pass this up.

               The heir apparent for Nibelheim, the mainland that was so far away it seemed to be a dream, apparently had a soft spot. It was unfair to punish children for the crimes of their parents, he said. Everyone deserved a chance, he said. He was warned over and over again that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, that children were the product of how they were raised. But Cloud Strife was an idealist, and stubborn as a mule. As his first declaration as king, he granted pardon to Sephiroth and invited him to the mainland.

Those who criticized the idea all but screamed when they heard who would receive the first pardon. They insisted that if he was to follow through on this already bad idea, he should at least take baby steps. Pardon some of the minor criminals, see how it goes. He refused outright. He insisted that this was the quickest way to silence those who protested. If Sephiroth could behave, as the son of the most hated villain in Nibelheim’s history, it would prove summarily that evil parents didn’t guarantee evil children. It was a risk, and a large one, but Cloud seemed both adamant and confident. His advisors agreed amongst themselves that sometimes, people had to be allowed to make mistakes; if they couldn’t learn from advice, they would learn from the consequences. They stopped arguing.

Sephiroth was stepping into a complete unknown, but it was a chance he would have to take. He didn’t know how to behave in a society that wasn’t controlled by cruelty and domination. He had no idea how to relate to what would be his new peers. His mother had been little help; her only recommendation was to do the opposite of what he was inclined to do.

He was reluctant to leave Midgar, but the opportunity in Nibelheim was too great. He was being inducted into the capital’s prep school, where Cloud and other nobility were taught. As prestigious as the institution was, it allowed him a chance at an item that could change the entire structure of their society. The white materia, an incredibly powerful magical item, was rumored to be housed at the school in an annex that housed a museum. After the founding of Nibelheim and the banishment that created Midgar, there was no discord that warranted the materia’s use, turning it into a largely ceremonial artifact.

Jenova, however, knew better. If the white materia was powerful enough to create the barrier that surrounded Midgar, it would be powerful enough to tear the barrier down. It would be powerful enough for Jenova to exact her revenge, to cease control of Nibelheim, for her and Sephiroth to conquer and rule side by side. Sephiroth didn’t want to attend the school, but the dream of his mother’s plan was too sweet to ignore.

When the car arrived to take him to Nibelheim, he climbed in without a word. He was equally silent through the drive and showed no amazement at the magical bridge that bloomed, carrying them safely over the water to the mainland. When the driver glanced in his rear-view, Sephiroth didn’t even appear to be impressed. The driver took it as a sign of ungratefulness and the impending failure of the soon-to-be-king’s proclamation. Sephiroth knew, but would never admit, that it was truly a sign of nerves.

 

Sephiroth was (quietly) disdainful of the school. He knew Midgar was little better than a slum, but Nibelheim Prep was just gaudy. Gold everywhere, statues, columns and stained glass and white walls entirely untouched by spray paint. It took effort to hide his sneer when he arrived, but he knew he had to be diplomatic, especially considering that Cloud Strife himself was waiting at the front door to greet him along with Reeve Tuesti, the headmaster of the school as well as the traditional wielder of the white materia.

He only turned half an ear to Tuesti’s introductory speech. He went over the basics of the school, the lay out, his classes and classmates, the remedial courses he would have to take to catch up with the other students. He discussed how he would be his counselor and guide him while he was an attending student, how dormitories and cafeterias worked, how he would be assigned a tutor to help him. It took only half a word for Sephiroth to peg him as patronizing, and dismissed the man entirely. He would be an obstacle, but more of an annoyance than a threat. He did, however, make a mental note to get some form of revenge for the insults that riddled his introduction. Sure, Midgar had no schools, but suggesting that his ability to read was limited was outrageous and an offense he would have paid dearly for if they were in Midgar. He didn’t have the time or opportunity to handle those remarks yet, but he was not the type to forgive or forget.

When he was actually introduced to Cloud, he was careful to play his part. He shed his usual confidence, acting wary but tentatively hopeful. The response from Cloud was immediate; it was clear this was what he hoped for. The prince apparently realized that he wouldn’t be greeted as a savior, but he was pleased to see that Sephiroth seemed willing to try. After they shook hands, Tuesti offered a brief goodbye before departing, leaving him with the prince and the girl that waited at his side with a polite smile on her face.

“I’m so glad to have you here, Sephiroth—I’m going to do my best to help you get used to the school. Everyone knows you’re coming, obviously; the school’s a rumor-mill, but I don’t think anyone will give you trouble. You can always come to me if someone does,” Cloud explained. He looked open and sincere in a way that was foreign to Sephiroth.

“I don’t think _he’ll_ have any problems handling himself,” the girl at the prince’s side said, slipping her arm through Cloud’s so they were linked.

The prince glanced at her, the smallest hint of a frown on his lips, and said, “This is Aeris, my girlfriend.”

The smile she offered didn’t appear to be entirely genuine, but then, after her introduction, he realized he shouldn’t have expected more. Princess Aeris, last of the Cetra line—a line his mother was responsible for wiping out wholesale. He supposed that someone well-loved and raised to lead was bound to have good manners, which Sephiroth assumed was the only reason why her displeasure was limited to pettiness. He knew that if they had been on Midgar, especially among those who _ruled_ Midgar, this introduction would have involved bloodshed, not false politeness.

He shook her extended hand, not managing to feign remorse for his mother’s actions, but able to keep the sneer from his lips. He counted it as a win.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he offered. Her lips twitched down just a hair; he expected she was looking for a reason to fight and was disappointed that he didn’t give her due cause. She would get over it.

Cloud, however, was obviously pleased with his response. He patted Aeris’s hand on his arm and pulled away.

“I’m going to show him the dorms. I’ll see you later,” he said to Aeris, who offered a brief smile and one last glance to Sephiroth, before leaving. Cloud gestured toward the front doors and then led the way inside.

Cloud chatted at him the entire way through in a way that felt vaguely strained. It was clear from his earlier behavior that it wasn’t Sephiroth’s presence or behavior that was the cause. The way he paused between sentences and kept pulling responses from Sephiroth made him think that the prince might be more of the quiet, shy type (the type that survived poorly in Midgar), but it made sense that he would have been taught to overcome that as heir apparent.  Sephiroth allowed Cloud to lead their conversation the same way he led them through the massive building, but when his opportunity arose, he seized it immediately.

“I thought the white materia was kept in a museum?” Sephiroth asked, pouncing the second the item was mentioned.

Cloud shrugged, saying, “It is, but it’s taken out for some ceremonies. Coronations are one of those.”

“I’ve always loved history. Is there any way I could get a chance to look at it?” Sephiroth asked. It felt clumsy and like his goal was obvious, but his mother never quite counted eloquence as something important, not when their goal was power.

Though it seemed like the obvious thing someone trying to steal the materia would ask, though Cloud should have been suspicious of him from the jump considering his parentage, he just hummed in thought.

“Only my advisors and my girlfriend will be actually close to it. I could take you to the museum sometime, if you want,” Cloud offered.

“I was hoping to get a closer look, but I guess that will work,” he said, attempting to sound disappointed. He assumed he succeeded, since Cloud glanced at him before moving on to another subject.

This wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped.

 

Sephiroth found he resented most things about the school. He was forced into a brightly colored uniform and his usual leathers were left locked in a varnished set of drawers that looked more expensive than everything he owned growing up. His “remedial” classes insulted his intelligence, his teachers went out of their way to try and prove that he was stupid, his classmates whispered when he passed. He drew the line at tying his hair back and “gym” class, where he stood in place and left the racquet they handed him at his feet, staring the coaches down while refusing to participate.

When he managed to find scrapes of privacy, he flipped through the spellbook his mother had given him before he left. Magic wouldn’t work in Midgar, but her old spells were bound to be helpful here. He used them to win people over as best he could, knowing that the more students that continued to suspect him, the more difficult his job would be. He used magic to improve hair and clear acne, to straighten teeth and mend broken items. When word spread of his “generosity,” more people came to him for help. It was a hassle, but it helped him avoid suspicion, which was what mattered.

It took him longer to figure out how to resolve the dilemma of accessing the materia. He visited the museum, but there were guards and magical surveillance; he had no hope of getting it from there. That left the coronation, but he wasn’t close enough to Cloud to get a spot close enough. He did his best to befriend Cloud, but he had an unexpected guard that kept standing in his way.

Tifa, Aeris’s best friend, trusted him about as much as the princess herself did. She was a princess herself from a kingdom in the far north, but she had little interest in her home. She was dedicated entirely to Aeris, who had been the only one to truly welcome her when she arrived at the school. It didn’t take long for Sephiroth to notice the pining looks and bitter comments and piece them together. Tifa, sent south to find a prince, who fell in love with a princess. It would never work, both kingdoms would require heirs. Even if that didn’t stand in their way, Aeris only had eyes for Cloud. Knowing she couldn’t have what she wanted, she dedicated herself instead to ensuring Aeris’s happiness. That seemed to include keeping him away from both members of the couple, likely out of some assumption that his filthy, villainous hands would corrupt the royal couple.

He had reasoned that winning over Tifa was the way to get his in with Cloud, and this dilemma gave him a solution to another.

It took him hours of pouring through his mother’s spellbook before he found what he needed. A love spell. If Cloud loved him, he would take Aeris’s spot during the coronation. If Aeris wasn’t dating Cloud, it would give Tifa an opportunity, and hopefully she would let him be now that he had no connection to Aeris.

The spell was easy to make, easy enough that he was unsure it would actually work. Something in him balked at the idea of baking, but the instructions were clear, and he would do what he had to.

               Sephiroth timed it carefully so that when he was at his locker at the end of the day, Cloud was at his own three numbers down. As he usually did when they were at their lockers at the same time, Cloud approached him.

               “Are you coming tonight?” he asked without preamble. Cloud was on the team for the strange sport the school seemed to be fond of, the one he refused to participate in during class. Cloud was accomplished in his classes and the star of the team—something in Sephiroth scoffed at Cloud being the epitome of the golden boy without even realizing it.

               “I was planning on it,” he answered, digging briefly in his locker. He pulled out a small bag, offering it and the single cookie in it to Cloud. “I made these earlier, if you’re interested.”

               Cloud hesitated, saying, “I don’t know, it’s right before the game—”

               Sephiroth withdrew, holding his hands up in surrender, letting bitterness curl on his face.

               “No, I get it. Son of the villain and all that, can’t trust I didn’t do something to it,” he said, as if the idea stung instead of being an entirely warranted (and accurate) concern.

               Concern stole onto Cloud’s face as he argued, “No, it’s not that—”

               “Really, it’s fine, I understand—”

               “Sephiroth, it’s just—”

               “No, don’t worry about it, I—”

               Without another word, Cloud snatched the bag an took a bite from the cookie, raising his eyebrows in challenge.

               “See? I trust you,” he said after he swallowed, but Sephiroth was too busy watching him closely to pay attention to his words.

               “How do you feel?” he asked, watching the prince’s eyebrows bunch in confusion.

               “Uh, a little nervous, I guess. It’s a big game tonight.”

               “No, I mean—”

               “Strife!” someone called from down the hall, cutting him off. Cloud glanced over his shoulder to see one of his teammates beckoning him.

               “I’ll see you after the game!” Cloud called as he jogged down the hall.

               Sephiroth cursed quietly.

               He hadn’t intended to attend the game, but he agreed to it, and since the spell didn’t work, he couldn’t wriggle his way out of it. He watched each play with his arms folded, gaze blank as he tried to figure out how the spell failed. He barely even heard the buzzer when the game ended, and only really snapped to attention when Cloud tossed his jersey at him. He caught it, looking down the (mostly empty) bleachers to where the prince stood in his padded under shirt.

               “Come down!” he called. Sephiroth glanced toward the cheerleaders, where Aeris was watching unhappily instead of celebrating with the rest of her squad, but descended anyway.

               He glanced at the scoreboard to check that they won before saying, “That was a great game.”

               Cloud responded with a glowing smile and said, “It was because you were there.”

               Sephiroth looked at him with confusion, but didn’t comment.

               Cloud tilted his head, eyes roving over Sephiroth’s face, before saying, “Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are beautiful?”

               Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. His eyes were an unnatural, glowing green with slit pupils that looked more feline than human.

               He hadn’t expected the compliment, but he expected Cloud to cup his cheek, raise up on his toes, and kiss him, even less.

               He heard more than a few gasps from the students around them and one outraged, strangled yell from Aeris. The kiss gave him a few seconds to hide his smirk against Cloud’s mouth; he only just barely managed to turn it into a smile by the time Cloud pulled away.

               Seemingly oblivious to their surroundings, Cloud took his hand and led him from the field. Their conversation was peppered with compliments that Sephiroth didn’t know how to answer, but felt no real need to respond to, knowing that the spell would smooth the edges of their discussion anyway.

               When Cloud dropped him off at his dorm room, he asked politely for a kiss, which Sephiroth only reluctantly allowed. He asked to take him out, a date without the title, and Sephiroth agreed with equal reluctance. Cloud pulled away with one lingering touch to his hand before Sephiroth entered the room and shut the door behind him. The grin that stole over his face was triumphant. He could handle a date if it meant achieving his goal. What was one afternoon?

 

               One afternoon was a lot to handle, apparently. They were leaving the school campus, a reprieve that let him dress in anything other than the uniform. He left his usual leathers behind to try and make a slightly better impression on anyone who saw them together. He still dressed all in black and only skipped a leather jacket because they would be outside and he wasn’t particularly fond of sweat.

               Cloud talked continuously, but it was different from the forced chatter of their first conversation. He was much more relaxed, asking honest questions and seeking responses because he was interested, not because it was polite. His tone was soft instead of formal and he guided Sephiroth through the trail they were hiking with gentle touches. It took effort for Sephiroth to hide his confusion; tenderness was not something that existed in Midgar. His tone and conversation and touches were entirely foreign, and Sephiroth was convinced the only reason Cloud didn’t notice him floundering to respond was because of the spell.

               Cloud led them to a small structure with seating and a few columns that bordered on an almost ethereal lake. Sephiroth was raised on an island, but he didn’t know water could look quite this beautiful.

               They sat and ate, their conversation continuing until Cloud tried to entice him into swimming in the lake with him. He insisted on Cloud going ahead without him and stayed behind on land.

               Things hadn’t been going entirely as planned—in a manner of speaking. He had won over enough of the school to avoid suspicion. His love spell was still working perfectly. He had a spot at the coronation and would be able to steal the materia. Tifa was distracted with Aeris, who was safely out of the picture. The crowning was tomorrow. He was so close to his goal he could taste it.

               The problem was Cloud. Cloud, who was sweet and kind in a way that Sephiroth didn’t fully understand. He knew full well that his behavior was entirely due to the spell, but the magic couldn’t take all the credit. The spell was what made Sephiroth the object of his affection, but the behavior patterns were all Cloud. This is how he would be in he was genuinely in love.

               He was raised to kill off vulnerability, to be hard as stone and cold as ice. The softness and caring Cloud showed would have ruined him if they were in Midgar, and a part of Sephiroth said that he should see the way Cloud behaved as weak. He was the kind of person Sephiroth used to destroy without blinking an eye. Somehow, the sincerity of it all wormed its way under his skin. He couldn’t find it in him to be repulsed by his behavior. Cloud was too kind for his own good, and instead of wanting to exploit that, Sephiroth found he wanted to protect him. The mere thought of someone raising a hand to Cloud the way he would have himself before he left Midgar lit a fire of outrage in his gut.

               He knew if he went through with his plans, Cloud would pay for it. But this was what he had been raised to do. This was all he knew.

               He tried to think his way through the dilemma, to try and find a solution while Cloud was occupied with the lake. It wasn’t until he gave up, stuck at the same impasse as he had been for days, that he realized Cloud had been gone for far too long. He stood and glanced around, but he couldn’t see a single blond hair. The water was still as glass, and something sharp bubbled inside him that he refused to identify as panic.

               He surged forward without thinking, searching as best he could, eyes glued to the clear water. It wasn’t until he was neck deep and a breeze pushed him out just too far that he cursed himself. He had told himself he wouldn’t go out this far, hadn’t realized the bottom of the lake got quite so deep so fast. He floundered and cursed himself again for always sitting out of gym class, even when he had the opportunity to learn how to swim.

               He was sincerely concerned by the time strong arms scooped him up and pulled him to safety. Cloud carried him to where they had been sitting before as he coughed. Cloud sat beside him once he was on dryland and looked at him with concern.

               “You don’t know how to swim?” Cloud asked.

               “Obviously not,” he bit, harsher than he usually spoke to the prince.

               “But you’re from an island.”

               Sephiroth sent him a withering look.

               “An island with a magical barrier around it.”

               “…Right.”

               Sephiroth reprimanded himself the entire way back to campus for being stupid enough to go in after Cloud in the first place.

 

               Sephiroth still hadn’t made a decision by the time he and Cloud were riding toward the coronation. He’d had hours to spend thinking on it, as the officials responsible for the coronation refused to have him at Cloud’s side in something that wasn’t hand-tailored and perfectly formal. He’d stood still through all the measuring and pinning and stitching without coming to a verdict.

               The only concession he made was to remove the love spell. He would have no need of it after the coronation, and the idea that Cloud was forced to love him sat worse with him with each day that passed. It was the least he could do.

               He nudged Cloud lightly and pulled out a small box. Cloud looked curious without saying a word, so Sephiroth opened it. It galled him that he had to _bake_ on what was now two separate occasions, but those were the instructions of the spells, and he could do nothing to change them.

               “To celebrate after the ceremony,” he said, already tucking the lid back on to stow it away when Cloud reached out, snatching it from his hand much as he did with the first spell.

               “Thank gods, I’m starving,” he said, taking a bite from it.

               Sephiroth couldn’t keep the look of horror from his face as he watched everything he worked for come falling down around him.

               “How do you feel?” he asked, tone strangely quiet.

               “Fine,” Cloud said with a shrug.

               “I mean how do you feel about me?”

               Cloud looked nonchalant as he leaned to look through the seats in front of them.

               “You mean, did your anti-love spell work?” he asked, not making eye contact.

               “Yes, I—wait, what?”

               There were pieces in front of him that he should be able to put together, but his brain came to a complete halt.

               Cloud gave him a sidelong glance before huffing a little laugh and turning in his seat to face him. A smile clung to his lips.

               “The lake was enchanted, it removed your spell. It wasn’t hard to figure out what you did,” he explained.

               Confused questioned perched on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice, so Cloud continued.

               “The lake removed the feelings from the spell, but I still remembered the time we spent together. I don’t need magic to love you.”      

               Sephiroth stared, mouth just barely hanging open in shock. Cloud didn’t seem to mind; he smiled, finding Sephiroth being lost for words endearing. Quietly, he pulled a silver ring bearing a carved wolf, the symbol of Nibelheim, and reached for Sephiroth’s hand.

               “Will you wear my ring?” he asked quiet, hopeful.

               Sephiroth only nodded mutely.

               The vehicle was pulling to a stop, so Cloud slipped the ring onto his finger without much fanfare, before exiting and going around to the other side. He took Sephiroth’s hand once, and he found he couldn’t ignore the slight pressure of the ring against his finger.

              The coronation itself was a blur; Sephiroth was too distracted to pay attention to it. He was too busy running through his memories, weighing what happened against the knowledge Cloud just shared. More than ever, he didn’t know if he still wanted to take the white materia, and he was quickly running out of time to make a decision.

               Ironically, he didn’t refocus on the world around him until it froze.

               The crowd was entirely still, and he couldn’t even see chests rise and fall with breath. He looked around wildly, trying to take stock of the situation as it now was, when he realized his choice was made for him.

               The white materia _was_ stolen, but not by who was expected.

               Sephiroth had worked out how to get close to the item to ensure he would be able to seize it without being stopped. Tifa relied entirely on speed to snatch the item away, and though there were guards frozen in their pursuit of her, it was clear she was quick enough. Sephiroth, not privy to her thought process, knew only that he had to stop her.

               Tifa had won Aeris over, but had talked to her father when he came to visit the school. They could have their relationship, but she would have to give it up when she became queen. She tried to accept that, not really having expected anything else, but she found she just couldn’t.

               She wasn’t the best with magic, but the white materia was a powerful item, and could make up for her lack of ability.

               After all, if the barrier around Midgar was destroyed and an outside threat reappeared, forging alliances would matter more than heirs. They could adopt or designate another person who wasn’t their child to take the throne, but tying Aeris and Tifa’s kingdoms together to fight the menace that would resurface from Midgar would take priority. She was willing to take the risk if it meant she could marry Aeris.

               Sephiroth, by virtue of being the most magically inclined person present, only just barely managed to shrug off the time-stop the white materia had used across the coronation. He managed to wrest the artifact from Tifa’s grip, but not before she could remove the barrier.

               He expected more of a fight from Tifa when he took back the materia, but all she did was give him a wild grin.

               He didn’t realize what happened until his mother appeared, seemingly from nowhere. He remembered seeing a teleportation spell written in her book, but there was no way he could have countered it, not knowing that the barrier was take down. He wasn’t sure if the spell itself removed the time-stop, or if Jenova deliberately unfroze the area, just to have an audience.

               Sephiroth cursed as, all at one, the attendants of the coronation snapped back to reality, seeing him holding the white materia.

               “Good,” Jenova praised, holding out one gray hand. “Bring me the white materia.”

               Sephiroth hesitated. He still hadn’t made his decision.

               “Sephiroth,” she called, crooning and scolding in the same breath. She held her hand farther out.

               He took a step back. Her face hardened.

               “This is our opportunity to take our revenge,” she reminded him. “This is how we pay them back for what they’ve done to us.”

               Sephiroth thought back to Midgar. He remembered the slums of it, the brutality of it, the honestly hellish society that had sprung up on the island.

               But he also remembered blond hair, gentle hands, a sincere smile, and being trusted for the first time.

               He found the decision was no longer as hard as he thought it was.

               Sephiroth looked down at the orb in his hands. He had a surplus of raw, magical potential, but knew very little of how to wield it. Everything he knew, he learned from his mother’s spellbook. He thought over each spell, searching through his memory as quickly as he could.

               “Sephiroth, now!” she called, and when his eyes shot up to meet hers, they flashed.

               In the end, the solution wasn’t in the spellbook, but in Tifa. Jenova could pose little threat, frozen as a statue.

               There was a long, silent moment where the onlookers waited for Jenova’s next move. The fear was tangible in the air. The resounding cheer that went up when the audience realized what he had done was equally tangible, but he found it difficult to notice.

               He was, after all, thoroughly distracted when Cloud rushed toward him and pulled him down into a kiss that brought around a second cheer.

               When they pulled away, Sephiroth found the first sincere smile of his life on his lips.

               Maybe being good wouldn’t be so bad after all.


End file.
